Floriography

Rubbles

These rivers are rain from a summer gone by
dragging the rubble to sea
they’re pointing their guns towards a northern sky
still none of them call themselves free

afraid to collide, you fall out of your mind
to kiss concrete ground with your teeth
but with two cigarettes and your letter combined
this air is too heavy to breathe
this air is too heavy to breathe

in order to stop them you cry out a spell
that withers in rubbles overseas
“take all your fluid words, kiss me farewell
and give me peace
give me peace”

Magpie Eggs

Looks like you’ve been eating magpie eggs again ‘cause your face is a stamp
that’s rejecting the little red marks to comprehend what’s not that good, and what’s bad
so first I’ll have a day off to recover
and then another week to make my plans
and if you’re not back when that first day’s over…

looks as if your eggs are all rotten, and now is the time to rely
on the spellbinders hat and his magic blue tie as our oceans run dry
the first day’s when you’ll get your toothbrush back
and the second ones made to compare
as you put the lotion in your backpack
I am already there…

there’s no longer no one asking for your name at the beach house grill on the fourth floor
and when you go out for a swim you’ll probably leave that face indoors
looks like the eggs are ready hatched now and like you chose wrong when you went for tails
but how am i to forget you’re there with your skin under my nails?

and it’s always the same, and a calendar wouldn’t help that much,
it is always the same

Ardennes

…but I still find cracks in this thin crust
small stains of paint that’s been spilled
children awake out of sawdust
wrapped in a black-spotted film
as I try peeling it strikes me
(’cause still some things come from within)
the feeling of being human
from wearing animal skin

done up to dive into tar sands
you are thrown back on your arms
muscles that tense as you wring hands
because you’re built to do harm
and when you cut loose from their fear march
the pounding paws of your kin
there will be no way to feel human
outside your animal skin

A Sense of Grey

Don’t ask if you don’t wanna know
there’s no one else here who do
and don’t rise if you don’t plan to go
or know where you’re going to

and don’t jump when you know you can’t fly
at least you don’t seem to have wings
that can bring your head higher than mine
I have my plane to settle in
you have your thoughts
that’s where I win

don’t dream if you can’t make it real
they’re only fictions anyway
and don’t love if you really want to feel
the spiking sense of grey
our spiking sense

Smoke

It’s there, it’s where it begins and it’s calling your name
you’ve been down there all night in a state that I cannot explain
behind grey curtains of ash from a word it was born
now smoke rises high from your head, morning mist laying dead on naked shoulders
no flowers no thorns

hey, love, stay the fuck out of my home I’ve told you a thousand times
‘cause my brain tells me you’re dangerous and my belly says you’re just too hard to find
a kiss from swollen lips of ashes will probably blow this whole winter away
but something tells me this is just not real something tells me this smoke is here to stay
it was supposed to be an endless day

Poetry

I’ll bury my downcast hours in transparent ink,
tie myself to the mast and wait here for the ship to sink
though I know I’ve set sail on a wishing well

the daylight is dimming out slowly with every breath I take
gasps of air become roaring rivers keeping me awake
it gives me no time to think things through
I know words always come before you do

but I can’t find no poetry left in these lines
I’ve been trying too hard, too long, too many times

is this what a biochemist would call happiness?
is it part of some unmade promise I thought I could forget?
is it time that I let som air come through?
for now strangeling love is all I can do

yeah, I know you have mountains of poems in mind
all explaining how all wounds will heal given time
but these days are no longer my time to spill
and I know that by waiting, I’ll make them stand still

I kept it as close as I could through those winter nights
but the ropes only tighten round me as I try to fight
there’s no worth throwing stone in a wishing well
now I’m out of black ink and true tales to tell

and I know it’s all poetry, know they’re just lies
but I’ll still scavenge on what I find inbetween those lines
I’ll pretend there was happiness, fake to have felt pain
just to feel there’s a reason to read it again

Stuck in the Waltz

I knew i’d heard it before as i fell to the floor and lost sight of the books on the shelf
there is no hard debate there’s no time to wait when you’ve no one to blame but yourself
you know it’s all arranged the seasons will change ‘cause the sun is in endless decay
there’s no one in control the earth will revolve a little slower for every day

we’re all stuck in the waltz

forgive me, i failed to ignore your depressions once more and i failed to ignore that you’re here
it’s just that when we hold hands any brief romance turns a little to fast into fear
and all the quiet words that we’ve ever heard are the sum of the noises around
written with glitter glue on a high-heeled shoe is a note praying ‘let me be found’

face it you’re stuck in the waltz
face it you’re stuck in the waltz

under the microscope, where we all find hope, you’ll see nothing but your last defeat
and as the silence grows only silence knows it gets greater for every beat
I hear the pulse of the drum like dead bones against stone; he’s been caught stealing it from a friend
now every single tone is a haunting moan, repeating the same tune again

face it, you’re stuck in the waltz, stuck in the waltz
face it you’re stuck in the waltz, we’re all stuck in the waltz

7!

That your friends hid beneath the same flag as your foes
was a blessing to fire at will
and out of the trenches a new day arose
there’s strength in these broken arms still

so burn all the poems and rip up the books
the words will white out as you sing
to carry the weight of the lives that you took
because life was a beautiful thing

now I cannot recall mountains risen to fall
one day we must awake from this sleep

what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain

the weaver’s hands tell me how your mouth has spun
all the promises left to fulfil
but you’ve chosen your weapon, the duel is on
and there’s truth in unspoken words still

what’s left of the day will eventually come down as rain
and though they all look the same, every drop has its number and name
what’s left of your plans will all drown to the sound of their hands
this might be your last chance